


Coughing Up Daisies

by Leo_Our_Queen



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Established Relationship, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Clark Kent, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leo_Our_Queen/pseuds/Leo_Our_Queen
Summary: Hanahaki disease is born from unrequited love. The medical term used is infection, but Clark just knew it as an infestation of vines that grew in the ribcage. Those vines would wrap around the lungs and slowly suffocate it's victim.Clark had hanahaki, but how could that be?They were supposed to be happily together.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 41
Kudos: 114





	1. Chrysanthemum

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Holdt for being a real MVP and helping me!

Clark had his head against the stall door, fist clenched tightly to his chest and eyes squeezed shut. He was desperately trying to catch his breath, the impact of an anxiety attack had its grip on him and he couldn't calm his mind to stop it. 

This wasn't his first anxiety attack, they were actually pretty common with the line of work he did and it was a shock to know how much anxiety Superman did have. This wouldn't be his last anxiety induced crisis, but this was not the place Clark ever thought he would have one and most certainly not over _this._ The ability to hear his own heart pounding in his ears was not making this painful situation much better. His chest felt like it was in pure agony.

"Clark?"

He froze, blood turning to ice, hearing his name being called through the door. Clark inhaled and shaking, let it out slowly before turning and answering.

"I just need a minute, Bruce," he tried to say with a steady voice.

"Do you need me to come in? 

"No! No, uh, I'm fine I swear. You know how all the sounds just get to me sometimes." He ended it with a fake chuckle, hoping Bruce figured he was okay.

Clark knew that Bruce could figure out he was far from fine, but he heard the billionaire let out a grunt and his footsteps fade away from the door. Clark let out a deep breath before looking into the fist he had clutched tight against his chest. There was a small white flower petal staring at him. It looked so mundane, simple, and even innocent. He couldn't stop the small tear that slid down his cheek and dropped right next to the petal, because it could only mean one thing.

Clark had hanahaki.

Hanahaki was an evil disease and could even be described as a genuine love curse. Hanahaki disease was born from unrequited love. The medical term used was infection, but Clark just knew it as an infestation of vines that grew within the rib cage. Those vines would wrap around the lungs and slowly suffocate it's victim. In a short span of time, it would eventually lead to death.

The only way to get rid of the disease was for feelings from the beloved to be returned, or through actual extraction of the vines through surgery. But even surgery had a great cost. Surgery to remove the vines would result in not only losing all romantic feelings, but also the ability to ever fall in love again. 

It was an extremely rare disease. Very little people knew of others who’d even contracted the disease, but everyone knew of it. Poetry and movies even painted it as a beautiful and dainty way to die. There were love stories surrounding hanahaki. But this didn't feel beautiful and the weight of the petal in his hand was anything but dainty. This was no fairytale love story-- it felt cruel and pathetic. 

Clark couldn't take his eyes off the white leaf he upchucked in the middle of Bruce's gala. He nearly bulldozed over some poor patrons trying to rush inside the restroom. This was their first outing together as a public couple. Clark had been looking forward to this night for weeks and it was ruined within seconds when he felt his throat itching in the middle of their slow dance.

Hanahaki came from unrequited love, and Clark knew from the bottom of his heart he was absolutely and utterly in love with Bruce Wayne. They’d been together and inseparable for months and Clark had never felt happier. But the single damn petal staring at him said that loving Bruce wasn't the problem.

Bruce didn't love _him._

So many thoughts were flashing through Clark's mind; what was the issue? Was it something he did? Why did he have hanahaki? Did Bruce not... love him anymore? Did he ever love him? 

Clark suddenly felt an extreme burning crawl up his throat. Something he's not used to feeling without Kryptonite nearby. Clark's hand went straight to his throat but he couldn't stop the hack that left his mouth along with a handful of petals bursting past his lips and right onto the floor. The flawless white flower petals being dirtied by the polished bathroom floor was a sad reality; he truly did have hanahaki.

What the hell would he do?

Everything came to a stop when he heard a foreign knock on the door, he knew that wasn't Bruce. "Hang on one second!" He rushed to pick up all that he could from the floor and ran to flush them down the toilet as the knocking persisted.

"Please just one second!" He hurried to the sink to wet and cool down his face, doing anything to make himself presentable. He looked in the mirror and took a breath before straightening his back and flinging open the door. He ignored the irritated stare of the older gentleman outside the restroom before trying to find Bruce in the crowd.

He found his boyfriend in the middle of the room as always, looking absolutely stunning as he socialized. Clark had never seen anyone so beautiful. He stared into those steel blue eyes as Bruce greeted him with a smile, but Clark couldn't bring himself to return it. His chest was still aching like a rotting tooth.

"Clark?" Bruce asked, voice slightly concerned. "You were in there for a while, everything alright?"

"Yeah!" He coughed into his fist, his throat felt like fire. "Yeah, everything is... okay. I think I'm going to head home."

Seeing the worry over Bruce's handsome features made the familiar burn crawl up his throat from his chest. He needed to leave before he coughed up a flower shop in front of everyone, and especially in front of Bruce.

"Sure. Just let me tell everyone we're leaving-"

"No, no! This is hosted by you, so you need to stay. I'm just going to go home and rest." Clark interrupted with his hands up.

Bruce's nose scrunched up but otherwise nodded. Clark pivoted on his heel before Bruce could say anything further, and rushed past everyone to the exit. He had both hands covered over his mouth and to the unsuspecting party guest, he just looked as if he had too much to drink and needed the nearest wastebasket. That's exactly what Clark did the second he made it outside in the open air and saw the public trash can on the sidewalk. 

He unleashed everything inside, people passed by turning their heads slightly to see him hacking over; his head fully submerged inside a trash can with the sides of the bin in a death grip, even completely denting the metal. It just wouldn't stop coming up and Clark never felt something so excruciating. It was like swallowing razor blades or needles and not able to get a single one down. Or the feeling of sandpaper being grinded inside his actual esophagus. As tears streamed down, he never felt so thankful that he didn't need to breathe because he just couldn't catch his breath. 

_How could anyone live with this?_ He thought miserably.

After coughing up the last petal just sitting on his tongue, he considered collapsing on the disgusting ground to catch his breath. He was breathing so heavy he left a fog in front of him because of the cold air. But all he saw were flower petals, bright white and covered in vomit just resting there on top of disposed garbage. Clark let out a sad and watery chuckle at the irony. He recognized those petals, they were daisies; his absolute favorite flower. His ma used to have pots and bushes of them growing around his Smallville farmhouse because of how much he loved them. He even had ceramic pots of daisies back at his apartment in Metropolis; Cheyenne, Jackson, Charlie, Ricky and Judah. He named _all_ his flowers and even spoke to them.

Did Bruce even care that he loved flowers?

The leaves were already inching out his mouth when he was inside talking to Bruce, but when the billionaire decided to stay at the gala and not follow Clark home, that's what made the flowers decide to come out with a vengeance.

Clark closed his eyes and looked up towards the clear winter sky.

Unrequited love with his own lover.

And it was killing him.

* * *

Clark considered flying to Smallville to see his ma, she tended to make even his worst situations better. But he couldn't bear for her to see him like this, not slowly dying from something so rare it's almost considered a fairytale myth. So he opted to fly home to his apartment in Metropolis, wanting to just curl up with a wastebasket in his bed with bad TV playing in the background.

He unlocked and walked through the front door, checking his phone and seeing no notifications from Bruce. Not a phone call, nor even a text but he did get a note from his weather app to wear a jacket tomorrow morning. 

He felt his throat burning once more, it was so nice to know that Bruce gave a shit. 

He swallowed down the pain and gave Shelby, his rusty colored retriever he bought with him from Smallville, a pat and scratch behind her ears.

"Hey pretty girl, what did you do all day?"

Clark would usually be answered with an excited bark, but even Shelby knew something was wrong. He only got a low whine and a head tilt in return.

"I'm alright, girl. Let's get you something to eat!"

He couldn't look at his daisies seated on his windowsill. He usually greeted them every time he came home, but Clark just couldn't do it. Not with his chest like this, not with the petals he could feel just at the base of his throat making him want to bend over and hack with everything he's got.

His heart jumped in his chest hearing his phone vibrate where he left it on the counter. Clark even used his speed to snatch it and made sure he didn't accidentally crush it like he did last time. He was hoping to see the familiar 'Bruce Bae' he had saved in his contacts, instead he saw 'Badass Lois Bitch' that his best friend saved on his phone for him.

Clark coughed at least 3 petals into his fist right there. 

"Hello?" His scratchy voice answered.

 **"What the hell? Who is this?"** He heard from the phone.

Clark sighed, and swallowed thickly. "It's me, Lo."

**"Why do you sound like Batman?"**

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that slowly spread on his face.

"You're a jerk, what is it?"

**"I tuned into the gala to see how much Bruce had to fix you up for the eyes of the elites. Imagine my surprise when I saw you weren't even there."**

Clark looked down, he was still wearing the only nice suit he owned just for the night.

"I, uh... wasn't feeling good."

Lois let out a sharp gasp. **"Oh my God, someone had Kryptonite? Who was it? You think it was Lex? Was he there?"**

"What? No! Lois, it's not that. I just..." He trailed off. He didn't know what to even say. "I'm just having-- I'm just not feeling too great."

**"Smallville? What's going on?"**

Clark finally let out the sob he was trying to hold in. "Lo, I-"

 **"I'm coming over."** She interrupted, then hung up the phone before he could protest.

Clark pulled the phone back from his ear with a whole new appreciation for his friend. He took that moment to take a deep breath and mentally get himself together before heading towards his room to change, Shelby following close behind him.

* * *

"Hanahaki... Holy fuck. That thing is real."

Clark had his head in Lois' lap, tear stains dried on his checks. The room was littered with pizza boxes, chocolate wrappers, and ice cream cartons. Mostly for Lois but Clark was also willing to stuff his face to numb the pain. He watched Shelby slowly take a crust from the almost empty box and take it to her own bed. It felt as if everyone was wallowing in his self pity.

"Have you told him?"

Clark scoffed and wiped his face. "Would he even care?"

"Smallville... of course he would. Even if he doesn't feel the same type of love, Bruce has and will always care about you." She tucked a curl behind his ear and pat his cheek.

The farmer shook his head, brushing her hand off, another tear slipping out. "I'm going to Jor-El tomorrow to see how long I have left."

"What will you do?"

Clark sighed and leaned up from her lap to meet her gaze. "If he doesn't love me, there's not much else I can do."

"You'll get them removed then?" She leaned back on the couch, arm reaching for another piece of chocolate.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. "I… I don't know."

Lois reached her hand out and grasped his.

"Will you ever tell him?"

He shook his head, but gripped her hand right back. "Bruce doesn't need to know."

"Clark-"

"He didn't even call to see if I was okay."

Lois didn't have a comment for that, but just looked away. "I'm sure he cares, Smallville."

"Maybe." He said bluntly. "But still, he doesn't need to know."

* * *

The trip to the Fortress was incredibly procrastinated, that was until Clark finally got a phone call from Bruce.

"Bruce! I've missed you! Did you want to do anything tonight? Movie or dinner? My ma can just-"

 **"I'm going to Tibet with Nightwing and another robin."** The playboy interrupted.

The smile never left Clark's face so fast. Bruce still didn't ask if his partner in crime was feeling better.

"Tibet."

**"Yes. There's a serious import of a lethal gas that they're planning on unleashing in Gotham's sewers. We're planning to stop it at its source."**

The Kryptonian paused. "Which is in Tibet." He stated bluntly.

**"Yes."**

Clark still had the phone against his ear, hand shaking slightly but feeling that aching feeling once more in his chest. He knew his throat was seconds away from burning.

"Do you want me to come and help? I can be there in a second."

 **"You don't think I can handle it?"** Bruce growled out. 

"What? No! No! Not at all, I just-- never mind. I'll swing by later tonight to say goodbye. Maybe we can do a little more before you go, eh?" Clark said sultry into the phone.

**"We're actually leaving right now. Alfred made scones in case you do come by."**

"Oh… scones." 

" **I have to go. I'll be back before the end of the week."** Bruce hung up right there, no goodbye of any kind. Clark even still had the phone pressed into his ear. He let out a deep sigh.

"I love you." He said to no one.

That was the final straw, a wave of burning heat shot up his throat. The pain was so excruciating he dropped his phone and to his knees right there, hands gripping his throat. They came bursting right out his mouth, it was almost comical at how projectile the petals were. But this was no funny situation, the sheer pain of his esophagus and the fiery burn had him convinced that it was thorns from the vines. Velvet petals couldn't cause this much pain. Clark collapsed face first into the vomit and blood soaked flowers. He tried to catch his breath as he watched everything stain his white carpet. He could barely feel Shelby whining and nudging his head with her own, or even acknowledge the stream of barks for her master to just get up.

But Clark couldn't. He couldn't get his bearings, he couldn't rise. The farmer just laid there as his eyes slowly drifted shut.

Clark's last thoughts were _if_ he woke up, he would go straight to Jor-El.


	2. Gerbera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark wakes up, but this is absolutely not what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for blood! Just mildly but still be cautious.
> 
> Thank you so much [Serephent](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent) for helping me with this entire chapter! That means the absolute world to me!

Everything felt like pure static; from his vision, to the feeling in his head. Even his always clear and ever present super-powered hearing was muffled.

"Mmm, wha-" Clark couldn't even form a coherent sentence; his mouth felt like it was full of cotton or better suited, full of flower petals.

  


The first thing he did notice was the temperature. Despite not being impacted by extreme degrees like a regular human being, Clark could still feel when it's really cold or when it's sweltering. So the first thing to hit his senses was pure cold air, almost as if he was surrounded by ice.

  


That caused his eyes to snap open, he jackknifed up but that resulted in a sharp sting coming from his arm.

  


"Ouch! God!" He felt... pain? He had his fair share of bruises and beatdowns, but pain would always be a foreign feeling to Clark. He examined his arm, the current source of his sharp pain, and saw an IV leading to a drip. The needle point glowing an extremely faint green under his skin. 

  


Kryptonite.

  


_What the hell?_ He thought.

  


"You're finally awake."

  


Clark stiffened, he knew that voice. He looked over towards the center of the room, to see Bruce, completely dressed in the Batsuit minus the cowl, typing on the supercomputer and not even bothering to look towards him. 

  


He wondered how Bruce found him. His last memory was of their phone call that caused all this mess. 

  


Clark took the rest of the moment to take in his surroundings. He was in the fortress, more specifically, he was in the medical wing of the Fortress— which would explain the cold and the ice. He was nude minus his typical pair of boxer briefs under a thin sheet on the medical bed. He couldn't stop the blush that bloomed across his cheeks at the thought of Bruce undressing him. They've had plenty of sexual moments before they became an official couple, but it still gave Clark butterflies inside.

  


Such a shame that those butterflies felt like razors slicing apart his esophagus at the moment.

  


Clark's gaze went back to Bruce, who still didn't make eye contact. It made his throat burn once more, the fire feeling more heated and scratchy than ever thanks to the kryptonite.

  


He coughed into his fist to clear it before a petal could hatch. "Bruce, I-" he croaked, the raw pain making his eyes water. It felt like talking around glass shards.

  


"Stop," The Dark Knight interrupted. Clark snapped his teeth shut. He'd learned that tone of voice coming from Bruce was nothing to be messed with.

  


The silence spread around the room, the only thing filling the void was the tapping of the keyboard. Clark officially wanted to go home to Smallville now more than ever.

  


"You know, your mother called." Bruce's agitated voice echoed against the ice walls, making Clark internally cringe.

  


"She called _you_?" He rasped.

  


"Yes, your mother called _me_. She called me when I was on the side of a Himalayan mountain, elbows deep in the snow and nose deeper in a case, to tell me you weren't answering your phone."

  


Clark swallowed thickly. He didn't like where this was going.

  


"She sounded incredibly worried, especially after she said Lois came by your apartment and heard Shelby scratching and barking from the other side of the door but no one answered." Bruce continued, "Imagine my surprise when I had to break down your door, and I see you— my _partner,_ face down in a pool of his own vomit and blood along with a few flower petals."

  


"Bruce, look-"

  


"I'm not done, Kal." Bruce spoke coldly. The sharp tone conveyed the 'shut up' loud and clear. Clark felt his heart pounding, but the burning in his throat was getting worse. His watering eyes clouding his vision as his throat clenches, the urge to cough becoming almost unbearable.

  


Bruce finally turned around and looked Clark in his eyes, but Clark couldn't meet those steel blues fully. He's been with Bruce long enough to know when he's keeping his anger under control. And right now Clark could visibly see that control breaking by the second, all because of _him_. The kryptonian put his head down in shame and closed his eyes.

  


"Four days, Clark. You were laying there for four whole days."

  


That sentence made Clark's eyes shoot open in surprise. "F-four? Oh God, Shelby!" He tried to push himself off the medbed, but even sitting up straight left him completely dizzy.

  


"She's fine." Bruce held up a single hand. "She's at the manor currently recovering from no food or water for the past four days because her master passed out, on the brink of death I may add, on his living room floor."

  


Clark looked down once again. "Look, I can explain." He started nervously carding his fingers through his already tousled curls, hissing in pain as the IV pulled from his arm once again.

  


"Explain then." Bruce crossed his arms. "Explain why you haven't said anything since the gala."

  


Clark's eyes squinted in confusion. "The gala?"

  


Bruce let out a deep sigh before walking towards Clark. Slightly towering over him from his still seating position on the bed. The Gotham elite reached in his back compartment and pulled out a single white flower petal, stark in the small plastic bag he kept it in. Clark's sapphire eyes widened when he saw what it was.

  


"I went back to the bathroom when you left. You missed one." Bruce held up the small bag in front of his face.

  


Clark heard enough. The absolute audacity of Bruce. He could feel his eyes bleeding into red, rage burning in his chest that rivaled the fire in his throat.

  


He stood up slowly, letting his form tower over Bruce's slightly smaller form. Clark took a deep breath, before clearing his throat loudly. The wet cough resounded right in Bruce's face. Clark leaned forward, and with a straight face, spit a saliva covered flower petal right on Bruce's combat boots.

  


"Really, Clark?"

  


"Yes, _r_ _eally_. I'm the one with this disease. Why is that Bruce?" He took a step forward, but Bruce didn't take a step back. "You didn't care at the gala. You didn't care when you went to Mt. Everest or wherever the hell you went! Don't act like you care now! Don't act like a victim!"

  


Bruce kept his mouth in a hard line. Clark had a million thoughts rushing through his mind, but the overwhelming feeling of insecurity fogged over everything. His Bruce flew from in the middle of a mission to check on him. His Bruce took his dog back to Gotham, not Smallville, but his own home at the manor. His Bruce flew him all the way to the Arctic to get him poper help, instead of taking him to the cave as he usually would.

  


This Bruce, _his_ Bruce, acted as if he cared.

  


So why could he still feel the vines tightening inside him?

  


Because despite all the caring, Clark still wasn’t _loved._ And that was the reality of this disease. He just wasn't loved by the person he loved the most.

  


Clark's hand shot to his throat, his nails digging into his skin and leaving marks. "Hck!" He spat out the petals he felt stuck, the white leaves tainted red. A lighter description of this feeling would be that similar to chest pain when coughing during a cold. But Clark felt searing pain radiating from his chest to his back, his shoulders, neck, and even around his jaw. Everything inside felt like it was being crushed by a boulder and the pressure was indescribable around his skull. 

  


Pure agony. 

  


All he could register was pure fucking agony. Dark spots entered the corners of his vision once again as he swayed on his feet.

  


"Clark!" Bruce's hands shot up to steady him, but Clark dropped to the cold floor, his weight ripping the short IV tube right from his arm. 

  


"Shit!" Bruce cursed as blood sprayed across the floor and even his face. He dropped to his knees with Clark and ripped the bedsheet and tried to put as much pressure on Clark's arm as possible. But the scariest thing wasn't the blood, it was the wet and choked noises barely coming from Clark's mouth.

  


"Clark! Damnit! Breathe!"

  


Wheezing was the only thing passing through Clark's lips. He barely registered Bruce's voice. He couldn't register anything, not panic as he felt himself slowly suffocating, not the air leaving his lungs with nothing coming in. Not even the blood spreading across the once white sheet from the hole he ripped in his arm.

  


The only thing Clark could focus on was the petal on the floor right in front of his face, the one he spat on Bruce's boot. The damn daisy petals he once loved.

  


Daisies. 

  


They were his favorite, _e_ _veryone_ knew Clark loved daisies.

  


He always left daisies on his father's grave when he visited the concrete plaque at Smallville's only cemetery. Clark even brought red gerbera daisies to Bruce on their first date. He remembered feeling so nervous when Alfred answered the door, even though he knocked on the mahogany wood a million times before. 

  


He remembered the two yellow daisies sitting in a small vase on the table in the restaurant for their two month anniversary. Bruce was very insistent of taking them to _that_ particular restaurant; Clark believed it was simply because of that. Those flowers as the centerpiece of the restaurant table.

  


Clark felt a tear slip down his cheek. He couldn't breathe. 

  


_Did Bruce care after all?_

  


"CLARK!"

  


He remembered Bruce had drawn him a picture of a daisy once. It was in a letter he paid a good chunk of money to have delivered to him from a business trip he was on in Australia. Bruce wrote how he missed him and thought of him in the stars, and drew a small daisy in the corner of the paper. Bruce was actually an amazing artist. Clark felt jealous of his boyfriend's many talents, even his small ones.

  


"Clark! Clark, look at me! You need to _breathe!_ "

  


Clark couldn't take his eyes off the daisy petal that was getting more blurry by the second.

  


He loved daisies for their simplicity. Ever since he was a child, his parents made sure they were planted around the farm in the hand painted ceramic pots. They were specially taken care of because they grew differently from the rest of the farm's plant life. They were the first thing Bruce pointed out when he first visited the farm. The fifth time Bruce visited, Clark took him around and told him the name given to every single flower.

  


Bruce was the only one who didn't call Clark weird for naming his flowers. Bruce even remembered each name.

  


Clark fell in love at that moment.

  


_Do you care Bruce?_

  


"Clark! Breathe! Dammit! Clark, baby come on just breathe." Bruce was shaking Clark and pushing him on his back.

  


"Clark!" His voice was on the edge of hysterics. "Look at me Clark. Breathe." Bruce pinched his nose and tilted his head back, pressing his lips to Clark's and trying to breathe his own air into him. He broke off to nothing working.

  


"Clark! Baby, please respond. I can't do this again. Please! Breathe!" 

  


Bruce leaned down and pressed his forehead against his lover's.

  


"Breathe!" Bruce felt Clark’s last bit of shallow breath get shorter and shorter. "Please." He whispered. "Please, just _breathe._ "

  


Clark tried. But he just... _couldn't._

  


His last thought was that now; he really _hated_ daisies.


	3. Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note to Readers

So unfortunately this fic has hit a little to close to home for a few people and that is absolutely not the intention I wanted and I most definitely did not mean to hurt anyone.

So I'm going to leave the two first chapters up because I did put a lot of time into this but in the end Clark and Bruce did end up happy together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
